


Dance with the Devil

by EdgeHedgeShads



Category: Lucifer (TV), Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Angst & Orphans, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Chloe Shadow, Comedy, Douche Sonic, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Hell's Angel Rouge, Infinite is Flirty Af, It Starts Hot, Lucifer Infinite, M/M, Maze Rouge, Multi, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Lucifer, Shadow Doesn't Flirt, Yaoi, dreadlocks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgeHedgeShads/pseuds/EdgeHedgeShads
Summary: Scarred with failure and cast from heaven when Mobianity walked from the Garden, Lucifer has been brooding in hell for two millenia. The "heaven of the damned" is his own personal punishment, a nirvana for the debased and twisted he supposedly caused releasing them from Perfection and opening them up to Sin.Finally free and disappointed to find Mobianity is frolicking in the Sin he's been forced to endure for so long, Lucifer decides the best way to get back at Dear Old Dad is to enjoy himself. What's a few more souls headed to "Bad Heaven" when it's wrapped in parties, drugs, alcohol and...Love? Where did that come from?
Relationships: Espio the Chameleon/ Infinite the Jackal, Rouge the Bat/ Infinite the Jackal, Rouge the Bat/ Shadow the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog/ Infinite the Jackal, Shadow the Hedgehog/ Sonic the Hedgehog
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Dance with the Devil

**PART 1:** **HELL'S ANGELS** **ON MOBIUS**

CHAPTER 1: THE ILLUSION OF FATE

Sleeping is a lazy indulgence for Infinite; he doesn't need to sleep to be refreshed, much like he doesn't need to eat or remain hydrated. Such mundane concerns aren't for the divine, even those fallen from grace. As always, said fall is his first thought when consciousness returns, tiring even for an immortal to relive on repeat for an eternity. Hatred is always the first emotion to flare, followed swiftly by amber and lapis irises mismatched by the fall turning to the ceiling with a sneer of defiance.

 _Happy now, Dad?_ He asks silently, the scar across his right eye creasing in memory of the lash to forever mar him as fallen from grace. More forcefully removed, but God isn't known for taking responsibility for his actions. _Proud of me, frolocking in sin with your perfect creations?_

He pauses for a moment, as if waiting for a response. One never comes. Not once in the years he's defied his Dad's law, remaining on Mobius instead of returning to being an unwilling Guardian of Hell, has Father made his opinions known in person. Before long, a snort passes pale lips and Infinite throws the blankets off as sharply as he rises, stark naked and leaving the equally exposed namesake of the club below to sleep.

Owner and proprietor of the infamous _Club Rouge,_ almost every resident of New Metropolis knows the name Lucifer Morningstar. One of the wealthiest men in the city, he lives in luxury apartments above his own club with the notorious flirt and beautiful Rouge the bat. The man fell into the city just three years prior and through prior connections, an innate charisma and unrivalled charm, had bought the club and dragged it back from the brink of bankruptcy within six months. A crumbling dive became the hottest spot in town overnight and with it, drugs and sexscapades Infinite was only too happy to indulge in with the mortals.

Infinite showers in silence, a palm splayed on the wall and head bowed, letting the water wash away his thoughts. It does no good to ruminate on the past, success and failings included. Life has become a rollercoaster moving too fast to look back for fear his neck will snap. So, he lets them all flow down the drain, soaking his fur to the roots for half an hour with scalding water to be certain they're all gone, the sting on his skin a ground against the turbulence even as he turns the faucet and it instantly fades and heals.

Another day has crested and there is business to attend. Lucifer won't allow the past to distract him.

Not actually Mobian himself, he took the image of a jackal because he liked how they looked and with it, assimilated a Chosen name. It was a trend with modern Mobians to take a nickname to use instead of family ones, which were often clunky and embarrassing. Said names were usually gender neutral and ambiguous, descriptive of character rather than meaningless words assigned by parents or carers. Infinite had felt reflective of what Lucifer felt capable of once freed of his prison beneath the earth's crust; constant, untamed and inherently frightening to comprehend.

By the time he re-enters the bedroom, his fur is fluffed and dried from an internal heat he now dials back, aware the bat he left in the sheets doesn't like feeling hellfire radiate off his pelt. Late morning light filters through thin, ruby red drapes to highlight her curvaceous form, beautiful even as she sleeps bathed in an aura of almost angelic light. It's an irrevocable reminder of her untimely death and impulsively out of character, how Infinite had brought her back to him as a hand-made demon. 

The first and only he's personally created, an act Dad had surely seen as blasphemous, but the jackal hadn't been thinking clearly. Rouge meant so much to him, still does as he perches on the edge of the bed and skims deft fingers through the soft, white fur of her cheek. The first person to accept him as he was, without care for his demonic origins. A woman who showed love and compassion even in the face of his seldom expressed fury, who had honestly and completely loved him and garnered his affections in return.

Lucifer still isn't convinced her death wasn't Dad playing a cruel game, trying to force him back to hell for a soul he'd connected with. He woke suddenly one night with a sense something was wrong, then quickly discovered the female spooned against his chest wasn't breathing. He'd struggled with emotions never before felt in that moment; despair at her passing, disbelief in reality, and panic. The one person he felt comfortable okay being the devil around was dead, overdosed on dust a higher quality than she was used to.

He doesn't recall reviving her, but the euphoria flooding his senses when she gasped for air was _orgasmic_.

No longer a delicate mortal but uncorrupted by sinful desire usually found in the demonic, she's special. Porcelain and perfect, beautiful youth preserved forever in an Angel of his own creation. _"Fuck off, I'm trying to sleep,"_ she groans as his fingers trace her jaw, dazzling turquoise irises cracking into a glare so far from angelic the jackal can only chuckle. Definitely not one of Dad's angels with a mouth that filthy, so very _delightfully dirty,_ he recalls. A flush of desire under his pelt and he leans in for a kiss, one the bat hums into before pulling away with a huff. "You can't work on a girl all night and expect her to leap out of bed the next day, Luci."

"My apologies," he mumbles softly, cupping the back of her head and kissing her brow, lingering there on warm flesh as she sighs in contentment. "I will admire your beauty in _all its glory_ later, my angel. I have a potential client to meet for lunch and then, a business deal to close over drinks in the club. You've plenty of time to rest."

When he pulls back, heavily lidded eyes regard his naked form in lustful exhaustion, considering another dance with the devil. Perfectly manicured nails touch to his jaw and scrape down, following bone even as Lucifer nuzzles into her touch with murred content. Nails scour down his throat and the jackal's breath hitches, a growl of appreciation as she reaches his chest and begins to trace the scar that slices his torso from right shoulder to left hip. Another scar to remind him of failure, of his Father's wrath.

"I could calm your nerves," she offers in husky tones, a knowing lilt in her offer as she nears his swelling pouch. He isn't nervous, she knows that. The shivers in his body are entirely of her own making and she's enjoying having such a profound effect on the divine man. "A quick taste, since you neglected to make breakfast." Slim fingers press into the monochromatic pelt either side of his quivering sheath. Infinite hisses as his engorged tip slips free without further encouragement but Rouge smirks, leaving it untouched in the cool air. "My my, such a horny devil you are…"

"A devil with an agenda," he reminds her, pale fingers now tracing the back of her ear. They're wider than his own, like satellites orbiting her beauty. Another perfection to add to the list. "I've not got time to make breakfast for you, but… I'm sure my client won't mind if I'm a few minutes late. He's a hot-blooded Mobian after all. We can bond over conque-"

Rouge doesn't entertain his faux-masculinity, shifting to an elbow before taking his tip into her mouth without warning. The jackal cuts off with a low growl then goes silent, sharp claws clutching at the back of her head. Her mouth is wet and heated, her tongue lounging across his penile slit and cheeks hollowed as she sucks, wasting no time in drawing the rest of him out to play. Infinite feels his cock slip free but this time straight into the warm cavern, whereupon the bat trails her tongue along the underside and draws it deep down her throat with a hum of delight.

She knows where all his tender spots are. Years of being intimate means she can trail her tongue across sensitive areas with practiced ease, mapping all his favourite places with a confidence none other has ever matched. His claws flex in her fur and he shudders on the edge of the bed, a palm splayed on the mattress for balance that also curls as she draws back painfully slowly. 

It's a prelude to something more and delightfully torturous, drawing a breathy grunt of anticipation when she reaches his tip. It's no wonder to Lucifer that Mobians tend toward sin when it feels so good.

Warm lips then linger on the precipice of removal, tongue lapping lazily at his tip while deft fingers massage his balls and trail over his thigh. The moment lasts forever or only a few seconds, Infinite can't tell, but her plunging back to the base of his cock was worth an eternity; the sudden move is predicted but still exhilarating, sending a wave of pleasured shivers through the devil's frame that continue to climb in potency when Rouge maintains the pace.

Her throat is tight, welcoming his pulsing cock like an old friend. Infinite's maw hangs slightly agape, a quiet growl of desire the only vocalisation of his approval beyond a soft whimper whenever the bat squeezed his balls more firmly. She's going for the record, humming on his girth in hunger for his seed, taking his endowment right to the hilt on every taste despite how deeply it sinks down her gullet. His growl becomes a snarl as he nears release, fisting the sheets in a shaky palm and skimming the back of her head and neck desperately as monochromatic hips begin to thrust of their own accord, forcing his tip just that little bit deeper.

With one last squeeze of his sac, Lucifer comes undone.

Infinite holds her firmly against his crotch with fangs bared, a deep snarl of pleasure as the fist of tissue at the base of his cock swells behind her teeth, locking them together in his ecstasy. Shudders coarse through his abdomen when the female continues to massage his balls, milking him for all he's worth, drinking his semen down with hungry, erotic groans of delight. Every swallow is delicious on his thick, throbbing cock, encouraging more seed to follow in shorter spurts even after his climax has completed, leaving Lucifer breathlessly knotted to his angel.

Not needing to breathe, Rouge remains there without any difficulty as they wait out the canid knot, turquoise irises cast up to her sexually fatigued beloved flushed with sex and intimacy at the cheeks. Infinite strokes her cheek and head lovingly, staring down at her with unfettered love with his twitching rod slowly softening in her throat, his business forgotten in that brief moment of clarity with the woman he stayed on Mobius for to begin with.

_Dad is a fool..._

_I'm never going back._

Of course, he'd _had_ to stay and put her back to sleep, even if it meant eating dessert before lunch. She tasted divine as always, an irony that always made Lucifer chuckle given her far from divine origins, making her finish not once but thrice before tucking the exhausted female back in to sleep it off. It was easy to forget she wasn't mortal anymore; she still felt pain and fatigue, unlike his devilish companions in hell. A true merger of demonic and Mobian the world had never seen before, his own precious angel.

Arriving thirteen minutes late to lunch, Infinite is irritated to find his potential client has yet to show. The businessman had been nosing at the club having heard the proprietor granted an individual's _deepest desires,_ for the right price. Today was to be the unknowing man's informal interview, a single screening process to assess his soul for Hell. Lucifer takes great joy in capturing semi-corrupt and pure souls for the torture chamber Daddy Dearest created for his errant son; one less perfect soul for Heaven was one more slight against the Big Man Himself, after all.

He waits ten minutes before ordering champagne for one and a lobster tail platter, determined to enjoy lunch before paying the no-show client a _personal_ visit. No one stands up the Devil, especially not a sleazy businessman with the unsettling scent of expired yogurt in his greasy fur. Memory of the odour is almost enough to put Lucifer off his lobster but the champagne cleanses his palette nicely. He pulls his crimson pocket square free with a flourish and tucks it into his collar, not wishing to get his best suit tarnished.

His waiter is a woman he's conducted business with, a soft spoken, homely woman with natural grace. Before Rouge, she would have been his goddess. They'd slept together to seal her bargain, rather than damn her soul to Hell; there's such a thing as _too good for Hell_ and Harmony is just that. He revived her barren womb, blessing her with the children she always wanted. It was a shame her husband hadn't felt the same and abandoned her shortly after the birth of their third child. 

While never admitting to feeling guilty for her misfortunes, Infinite would request her every visit, chat brightly and tip handsomely afterwards. Those young mouths aren't going to feed themselves, after all.

\--

Pulling up opposite his client's home, the jackal sits still in his car with the engine still running, hands lightly gripping the white leather wheel of his red convertible. The tiny yard is cordoned off with blue tape, the shack-like, aging condo surrounded by cop cars. Mobians in white jumpsuits shuffle in and out with their shoes constantly being wrapped and rewrapped in plastic drawstring bags upon entry. Multiple others mill about on the dying lawn talking to those going in and out, writing on evidence bags and sipping at scalding coffee from paper cups. Two hedgehogs talk with what he thinks is a fox in a nerd jumpsuit as he hands over a bag.

Infinite knows a crime scene when he sees one and isn't intending to get involved. Retrieving a large pair of tinted sunglasses from the glovebox, the devil slips them on and jerks the car back into _drive._ He casts the crime scene one last glance only to make eye contact with one of the suited hedgehogs. _There's no point leaving now._ He cuts the gas. _It'll look suspicious, and I don't want suits sniffing around my club. Lawyers are such boring people._

With quills an obnoxious blue and eyes gaudy jade, it's a marvel this man Isn't a model instead of working a real job. He looks young and inexperienced, evident more so when peach lips move and the other hedgehog turns to look with a scowl. This must be his senior officer, if not in badge then at least experience. Ebon fur and quills are accented with red quill shafts on the upper side of their bundles, crimson irises sharp and calculating, but most of all creases in his brow that add decades of false age. He's had a stressful life. It shows. _And_ _it's about to get more stressful._

With a huff, he exits the car and slams the door, brushing his suit jacket back to tuck his hands in his pants pockets. He doesn't bother removing his sunglasses, nor approach the officers when the technician makes himself scarce. It's not his place to offer anything, but for them to ask. A tactic heartily deployed given Infinite is incapable of outright lies. It's hard easier to twist a truth than mislead anyway. So he remains casually at a distance, muzzle turned to the sun and free dreads whispering in the breeze, uppermost ones pulled away from his face in a smooth knot.

As expected, the one to approach is the humorously short, darker hedgehog with a face like thunder. The ebon thrusts his cup into the other's hand, barks an order Infinite doesn't hear from his distance and trudges across the grass with purpose. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucifer sees heavy steps trample the wilted tulips in a border flower bed. He's either unobservant or callous, the jackal deciding the latter when he flashes his badge. Shielded eyes peer down at the detective shield and their owner, who's chin just barely surpasses the jackal's shoulder.

"Detective Shadow of the NMPD," the hedgehog informs him briskly, flipping the badge shut and tucking it into his ratty blazer a moment later. The man has a deep voice for someone so small, an echo of smoke damage to his vocal cords. Perhaps that's where the gravelly tones came from. "I'm going to need to ask you some questions," Shadow continues without pause, searching his many pockets for a pen and pad to make notes. "First, your name."

"Only if you ask nicely," the jackal naturally teases, but rolls his eyes when all he gets in return is a glare. Not unusual for some to be more difficult to schmooze than others. This prickly plod would be just like the others. Infinite pulls a business card from his sleeve and offers it to the detective, who takes it hesitantly. "This should answer most of your mundane queries, Detective. Anything else I can assist you with before I take my leave? I'm a busy man."

Shadow rests the card against his notepad and studies it, frown somehow deepening before raising an incredulously judgemental brow at the jackal. "Lucifer Morningstar?" He queries the name, then tuts and folds his pad shut, tucking it away without taking any notes. "Pretentious, but yes. It's the contact information I require. Now, tell me why you're at the vic's house hours after his body was found. How you answer will determine if you leave in cuffs."

 _"Detective, we just met."_ His tone is playful and musical, a palm coming to his chest in mock concern even as a smirk curls his lips. "But if you're interested, I won't say no-"

"Is this funny to you?" Shadow interrupts bluntly enough to lock the words in his throat. Infinite would be irritated if it weren't so _unusual;_ no one ever interrupted him, let alone talked _back_ in such a tone. His ears perk in curiosity at his ignorant impotence. "A man _died_ , _"_ Shadow continues to the jackal's face, obviously straining to keep fangs hidden and maintain a professional attitude even if his anger is palpable in the air. "So drop the act and answer the damn question, or I'll drag you to the station and interrogate you _personally._ Understood?"

Infinite feels warm around the collar, a phenomenon he's not had since first seeing Rouge in her underwear. For this mortal to speak to him with much authority, not to mention the possible _innuendo_ in his statements, have him at a loss for words. Mostly as so far, his words have conspicuously failed to garner the reaction he expected. Women fanned their cheeks, men also if they were so inclined. Everyone else found him inexplicably intimidating and authoritative.

_All except you, Detective. How intriguing._

"I do, and would _very much_ like a _private_ interrogation." His last and most hated line of subjugation, the jackal removes his tinted sunglasses and meets the ebon's stern, crimson gaze without pause. Mismatched irises filled by confidence stare the man down as he tucks the glasses into his jacket. "Tell me, Detective," he asks softly, a smirk touching the edges of white lips, bright amber and lapis irises a sharp contrast to the reddened scar cutting through the latter's brow. "What is it you _truly desire_ of me? And don't be shy. I'm feeling _generous_ this morn-"

He's flipped face-down on the bonnet of his convertible in a second, a strong palm pressed into his back as his arms are gathered to be restrained. "What I want," the hedgehog growls in a flickering ear, training sharply on the growled tones. "Is for a day to go by without some asshole like you thinking they're exempt from consequences because they have a sharp suit and a sports car." Wrists locked against his back, Infinite hears the jingle of cuffs and realises a bit too late he's under arrest. Not that he minds with such hard abs pressed to his ass. "Unlucky for you, I haven't had enough coffee yet, so _you_ get to go downtown to answer my _simple fucking questions."_

The cuffs go on tight enough to chaffe. Lucifer tilts his head to regard the Detective over his shoulder with a humored smile, a flash of fangs to accompany his teasing tone. "Do I get to wear these all the way to the station? What about during our _private interrogation?"_ To the jackal's delight, his captor flushes a deep pink as he takes hold of a bicep and hauls the canid back to his feet, marching him towards the squad car without reply. A silence Lucifer is happy to fill. "If I'm a _naughty jackal_ on the way, will you wear leather and make me call you Daddy-?"

Shadow barely manages not to throw the jackal in the car, not bothering to help Infinite right himself on the narrow back seat. "You've the right to remain silent," he comments with a growl, slamming the door before adding under his breath as an afterthought. "I hope to Chaos you _use it…"_


End file.
